Winifred fell back, looked at him aghast, unable to speak, as the light dawned upon her. He mistook her movement, rose, and began to speak hurriedly, pacing the room.
“I couldn't help it—how could I help it? I have struggled against it with all my might. I know I am a fool to think that she can love me, and you are surprised and dismayed, as she was when she saw that I loved her. I would have bit my tongue out then rather than tell her, but I saw she guessed—and that is why our friendship has been broken. I have kept away from her to spare her the pain of it. But it has nearly driven me mad. I can't go abroad with the weight of it upon me. I must see her and let her know everything. Tell me, Winifred, you who are so fine and delicate, I did not wrong her and our friendship by growing to love her better than anything life has. She won't think me unworthy of the trust she gave me, and despise me?”
“Oh, no, no, no!” said Winifred half chokingly. “Your love would honour any girl. Oh, why did you not tell her and plead with her before?”
“Then do you think, Winifred——” began Kent with a sudden joy in his eyes.
“Oh, don't!” cried the girl, interrupting him; “I can't bear it. It is too late! I hate to stab you like this, but you must know it. Clytie is engaged to be married.”
There was a long silence, during which neither looked at the other. Kent was stunned, dazed. He had come prepared for a refusal, but not for such an absolute shattering of all his hopes. He grew very white and stood with his hand on the back of a chair, as if steadying himself.
“How long has she——” he said, at length, huskily.
“Only last night. She told me of it this morning.”
“And the man?”
“Mr. Hammerdyke—Mrs. Farquharson's cousin.”